The smell of blood would not leave me. A coppery tasting mess of cloying sweet aroma that was invisible, yet overwhelmed every other sense. The sound of Stevens’ body being wrapped inside a slippery wet poncho to be left, like that of the others, along both sides of the killing Bong Song. The river hadn’t killed any of them but its presence, like Charon, the ferryman of Hades, guiding his boat across the death river Styx, was always there, in the middle of life, but holding out constant and ever-changing invitations to go over to the other side. I tried to huddle against the relative cold comfort of the mud but there was nowhere to hide or go. I was the company commander who wasn’t a company commander. I was the one to be followed but not to be allowed to know I was being followed.

The darkness approached. I had to prepare myself and what was left of my team. There was no way to avoid taking the point. Usually, the exposure of being in that lead position went to some expendable new guy, but the entire plan depended upon surprise, and that meant not giving away our arrival. The amount of cautionary sensitivity required wasn’t something I could trust anyone to apply or really understand. The Starlight scope was going to be our oddest but most useful tool once again. I pulled myself from my muddy protective cocoon, knowing full well that our exposure to any fire from across the river might end the same way as Stevens had encountered. One single small arms round, or even a displaced rock, and it was over. Medivac wasn’t in the cards until we were back upriver near, or at, the concrete pad where the old airport still lay abandoned.

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